Modern Romanticism

Sideways recognition
for the uncovered corner,
from where fields
are blowing their seeds,
from spots of isolation
where ideas were birthed,
but I found it all to be
further flakes of snow.

Lost pages in the drift,
filtered words to sift,
to separate the letters
from the spaces,
as I come to correct
what goes meaningless
against the muteness.

I’m deaf to what shouts
from within, as all echoes
back through a false
scene of serenity.

I’m numb to the ghosts
pulling me through
timeworn feelings,
capsuled sealings.

Water is more than enough
to race this boat across
that hoards less than enough
to survive by.

Fire is the element
that threatens the waves,
that speaks to the place
where I remain constant,
where I stay consistent.